


Something Done Right

by SleepsWithCoyotes



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Episode Fix-It: s02e13 Mizumono, Fix-It, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Will Graham Doesn't Need Help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-22 20:14:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13771695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepsWithCoyotes/pseuds/SleepsWithCoyotes
Summary: If Hannibal's even half as clever as he thinks he is, he'll know what he needs to do.  He'll have a plan in place, probably something audacious no one else could pull off, and he'll vanish before anyone's the wiser.  He won't let pride or anger get in his way....right?





	Something Done Right

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically the fix-it I've been wanting to write since I saw the Season Two finale. Just. BE REASONABLE, BOYS. OMFG what.

Will's not _stupid_. He knows he shouldn't have run when Alana called to warn him he'd be brought into custody, when he saw the little convoy of trucks approaching to collect him, too familiar by half. And if he _is_ going to run, he should make good on the impulse and _do_ it. He shouldn't be hiding behind a sturdy tree, heart in his throat and cell phone pressed to his ear. He shouldn't hesitate when the call's picked up--it's the indecision that's going to be the death of him--but when he hears Hannibal's voice, warm and inviting, his brain just locks up.

He's silent too long, but Hannibal doesn't urge him to speak or express any confusion over who's calling. Maybe he checked his caller ID. Maybe he's just been waiting for Will to phone.

"They know," Will gets out, voice hoarse. Even as he disconnects the call, he has to wonder if he's repeating history, if Hannibal said the same thing to Garrett Jacob Hobbs once upon a time.

That should be enough, right? Will's basically screwed himself the instant the FBI checks his phone records, but if Hannibal's even half as clever as he thinks he is, he'll know what he needs to do. He'll have a plan in place, probably something audacious no one else could pull off, and he'll vanish before anyone's the wiser. He won't let pride or anger get in his way.

"Goddamn it," Will mutters through clenched teeth, resisting the urge to throw his phone off into the trees. Finding it again would just be another excuse for delay, and in the back of his head, he can practically his dad's voice grumbling at him to make up his mind, shit or get off the pot. His _dad_ , for Christ's sake.

The thing is, Will's not _stupid_.

***

Hannibal stills with the phone still pressed to his ear. He's been expecting something--for Will to call to confirm their dinner plans, still playing the innocent, or even a cancellation if Will has lost his nerve. A last-ditch attempt to talk him out of everything would not have been completely out of character, but this: a warning, tacit admission of Will's betrayal, delivered with enough regret to make Hannibal almost believe in it...this is unexpected.

He hangs up without another word, eyes narrowed as he stands in his empty kitchen, alone, the wheels of his mind grinding apart a myriad possibilities and plans. He keeps getting derailed by one simple realization: that he has lost, and Jack has won.

And what's to be done about that?

***

Will's closest neighbor has a battered old pickup he doesn't even bother to lock, with peeling paint and a back fender held on by a twist of wire. It takes all of a minute to hotwire it, and Will doesn't bother being quiet about it; his neighbor is in his eighties, deaf as a post. He'd feel worse about the theft, except it's not the old man's primary vehicle, and he doesn't plan on keeping it for long anyway. He just needs something to get him into Baltimore.

He calls a cab from a gas station and gives the driver Hannibal's address when he climbs in back. "And please don't drive me all over town to rack up the meter. I'm meeting someone, and I can't be late," he adds when he sees dollar signs light up in the cabbie's eyes. "And I'm running late now, so there's an extra twenty in it if you hurry a little."

"Hey, don't worry, I'm a professional," the cabbie promises, fixing an angelic expression on his stubbly mug and turning half around in his seat to make sure Will gets the full effect of it. "You're in luck, though; traffic's been light," he adds as he turns back around and pulls onto the street. "All this rain. You forget your umbrella?"

"Something like that." Will clenches his jaw. He doesn't enjoy small talk on the best of days, but tonight it's torture. He knows Jack, that nothing will make him deviate from the plan. Will lied just now; if anything he's early. If Jack leaves his house to arrive precisely on time....

Will closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. If Jack waits one moment longer than he has to, it'll be a miracle.

"So when I said 'hurry'...."

***

Hannibal has always suspected a formidable strength lurks beneath Jack's well-padded exterior, but also that his inability to see past his own assumptions will be his undoing. It's almost disappointing that Jack would fall for such an obvious trick as Hannibal going limp in his choke-hold, as if he couldn't fathom playing dead when one's life was at stake. As if he didn't believe Hannibal had the control for it.

It's indignation as much as anything--at the blindness, the insult--that prompts him to drive a shard of glass with just that extra bit of force into the side of Jack's neck, then to batter his shoulder against the door of the pantry when Jack manages to stagger inside and close it against him.

Well. Perhaps a touch of anger as well. Because this-- _this_ is what Will chose over him? Blinkered certainty, brute force manipulations, a man who expects to be exonerated, _lauded_ , for doing the very thing he condemns in those he chases. If Will hopes to replace Hannibal, he's chosen a poor copy. A very poor copy indeed.

A hinge whines, the heavy pantry door shifting in its frame as screws begin to jar their way loose from the wall.

" _Hannibal!_ "

He turns, pausing to catch his breath. From the tone of Alana's voice, she's had to repeat herself at least once. He should probably be embarrassed; that's no way to treat a lady.

The determined fury in Alana's eyes doesn't surprise him a bit.

***

_Just stay quiet_ , Hannibal had told her, _whatever you hear, unless you need to run. And then you_ run. _You know where to go._

Abigail knows when she's in over her head; she's had practice. She's also very good at doing what she's told, for all that her one, critical moment of rebellion has probably convinced Hannibal otherwise. She's had time to think since then, time to realize where her reckless gamble has gotten her. Hannibal's a killer and had meant to use her as bait, but he's nothing like her dad. If she'd just followed his lead, she'd…probably be surrounded by dogs right now, in Florence, listening to Hannibal pretend to complain about fur on antique furnishings.

Another crash from downstairs makes her wince, but her heart doesn't really start to hammer until it all goes quiet. If it were really over, Hannibal would have called up to her. If Agent Crawford…if he managed to….

Running footsteps on the stairs shocks her pulse into overdrive, but also sparks a flicker of hope. No one knows she's here, and Hannibal wouldn't _run_. It's still a shock to see Dr. Bloom come bursting through the door, only to close and lock it behind herself. She has a gun, and she ejects one clip with shaking hands only to slam another one in, firing twice into the door as the floorboards outside creak under Hannibal's weight.

"I found more bullets!" Dr. Bloom warns, not dropping her shooter's stance.

 _Stay quiet_ , Abigail reminds herself. _Stay quiet_. Panicked tears prickle in her eyes. She likes Dr. Bloom, but if she loses Hannibal now, she'll be all alone, and they'll ask so many questions, and she…she can't. She just can't.

He'd trusted her once, and she'd blown it.

She steps out timidly, slowly, and doesn't flinch when Dr. Bloom wheels around to point the gun at her.

"Abigail?"

The gun lowers, drops, as Dr. Bloom searches her face. Abigail takes a halting step closer, then another.

"I'm so sorry," Abigail breathes once she's close enough to touch.

It's her choice this time, and she makes it on her own.

***

Ducking his head to peer through the side window as they turn onto Hannibal's street, Will asks the cabbie, "Can you slow down here? I just…want to make sure the car's still there." He doesn't see the agents Jack had promised would be on standby, but if they're under investigation, the whole operation's probably been cancelled. He hopes so, anyway, because he has no plans to go out in a hail of bullets tonight.

"Or not there, am I right? Not my first time around the block, you know what I mean?" the cabby asks, laughing at his own joke. "The hubby supposed to be away tonight? Or the wifey, hey, I don't judge. You do you. Or. You know. You do--"

"Can you just…stop here. Please," Will says through gritted teeth as he reaches again for his phone. He calls Hannibal again; if his phone activity is being monitored, he doesn't care. He just needs to know for certain that this hasn't gone the way he fears, that the phone will ring and ring and not--

" _Will_?"

"Where the hell are you?" Will spits into the phone as the cab rolls to a stop a little sooner than he'd meant. They're maybe two car-lengths back from Hannibal's door, which stands cracked open, a faint glow from the foyer spilling onto the steps where a shapeless mass sits that Will can't quite see through the rain. And what the hell happened to the upstairs window?

" _Here_ ," Hannibal says after a beat. " _At home. Is that a surprise_?"

"Yes, it's a fucking surprise!" Will yells, voice cracking. "I called an _hour_ ago--"

"Hey," the cabbie says in a soothing tone, turning around once more and propping his elbow on the back of the seat. "Calm down--"

"You shut up," Will growls, which earns him a hurt frown.

"Now look, buddy--"

" _Will? Where exactly are you_?" Hannibal asks slowly. There's a hitch in his breath that could be exertion or surprise. At the moment, Will honestly doesn't care which.

"I'm in a cab outside, waiting for you to get your shit together so we can get the hell out of here--does that answer your question?"

"O-kay, out of the cab," his driver says, brows climbing toward his receding hairline.

Switching his phone to his left ear, Will draws his gun, cocks it, and aims it right at the cabbie's face. "You talk, you move, and I blow your head across the windshield."

" _Will…._ " Hannibal's voice is soft, almost wondering. Will resists the urge to roll his eyes only because he doesn't want to take them off the cab driver. Of course Hannibal is impressed. Of course.

" _Now_ , Hannibal," he says flatly. There's no point in avoiding names. There's no way this won't make the news, even if they let the cabbie live. At the rate Will's patience is fraying, Hannibal is more likely to be the deciding factor there than he is.

" _Of course_ ," Hannibal says, swallowing audibly. " _One moment_."

It's a moment that feels like an epoch, filled mostly with Will holding a pathetic stare-off with a man whose eyes keep flicking wildly around in search of help. Hannibal's street is always quiet, and tonight is no exception; when the cabbie's eyes hang on something at last, Will just scoots over to take the seat right behind the man, expecting the opening of the right rear door, for someone to climb inside.

He isn't expecting that someone to scoot closer, way too close and _time and place, Hannibal_ \--except the weight that dips the seat beside him is far too light, and it doesn't arrive alone.

Will dares a glance sideways and nearly shoots the cabbie by accident when every muscle tenses at once.

" _Abigail_?"

She cringes at his incredulous look but manages a shaky smile. "Hi, Will. Um. So I guess we're going together after all…?"

"Jesus," the cabbie breathes, staring openmouthed. "That better not be the wifey."

Hannibal reaches across smoothly, inserting his thumb into the firing mechanism before the hammer of Will's gun can complete its arc, just as he'd done once before. "Allow me," he says, lifting the weapon from Will's hands. There's blood on his face, likely more hidden under the heavy overcoat he must have grabbed on his way out the door, his usual suit jacket missing. His hair, damp from sweat and his brief soaking on the way to the cab, falls in loose strands across his brow. He looks like he's tangled with a bear, and Will can't quite decide whether to kiss him or punch him right in the face.

"Look," the cabbie says in a shaking voice, reflexively lifting his hands in the air, "whatever you want--"

"At the moment," Hannibal cuts in, gesturing with his gun hand in the direction of the steering wheel, "I would like you to drive on, just as you usually would, before the police arrive. Follow my instructions, and we can put this unpleasantness behind us."

"Y-yeah, okay. I can do that," the cabbie promises, releasing the parking brake and slowly increasing their speed right up to the limit and no faster.

Will glares, his urge to take a final glance at Hannibal's front steps forgotten. So it's all right for _Hannibal_ to indulge in random acts of mercy, but let Will pull a gun and--

"Are you mad?" Abigail asks in a small voice. She had time to grab a coat as well, but she's huddled in on herself as if cold, trying to take up as little space as possible.

Will takes a deep breath and tries to stuff his rage back into its box. It works about as well as anyone could expect. "I am...furious," he admits in as calm a voice as he can muster. "About a great many things. But not over the fact that you're alive."

Abigail's smile trembles at the edges, relieved tears welling in her eyes. When her laced hands unknit and one twitches in his direction, he reaches over and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

"If that's so," Hannibal says gruffly as his expression goes opaque, "then why did you come?"

Will's been asking himself that the entire way here, not because he doesn't know, but because he needs to be sure.

"Because I'd be twice as angry if I didn't." He braces himself for an interrogation laced liberally with smug gloating, but when he sneaks a glance, Hannibal still looks uncertain. "You were right, okay? About me, us, all of it. And since it's my fault we're still here, I'm fixing it. Which would be a lot easier if you didn't have to be so dramatic all the time."

He's never seen Hannibal look the way he does right now, made fragile by hope, swallowing against emotion that turns his eyes suspiciously bright. "We couldn't leave without you," Hannibal says in a thick voice, one corner of his mouth turning up in a soft smile that almost makes Will forget he's angry.

Then again, he's pretty fucking angry.

"I would have _found_ you," he grates out through a clenched jaw, and even he can't say for sure whether that's a threat or a promise.

Hannibal's eyes light up, and it feels like the hunger staring back at him ought to be new, except it isn't, it really, really isn't, and--

"Um...I could sit up front?" Abigail offers, sinking down a little like she'd like to slip out from between them.

"Stay right where you are, Abigail," Will orders without taking his eyes off Hannibal.

"Please," the cabbie adds under his breath.

Will whips his head around to glare at the rear view mirror. "One more word out of you--"

"Will," Hannibal says quietly, snagging Will's attention entirely once more. "Thank you. For changing your mind."

Will's breath stills in his chest. Hannibal should be thanking him for calling ahead, for the extra warning, for _not_ backing out, unless--

"You knew, didn't you?"

"Yes."

The admission shouldn't leave him feeling sick with guilt, but he wouldn't be here if he didn't care. Looking back on that last dinner together, he sees Hannibal's impulsive invitation to just vanish for what it is: a final roll of the dice and the last chance Hannibal had intended to give. He must be the luckiest sonofabitch alive, and not just because he ought to be bleeding out on one of Hannibal's immaculate floors right now.

"Then...thanks for trusting me. Again," Will adds with a pained grimace.

Hannibal smiles. "Always."

In the heated silence that follows, Abigail clears her throat. "So, um, I have a driver's license...."

"Oh my _God_ ," the cabbie all but whimpers.

Curling his hands into fists, Will turns his head to glare pointedly out the passenger-side window. "Look, can we just get where we're going and talk about this later?"

"As you wish," Hannibal agrees with a regal tilt of his head.

Abigail makes a curious sound, a sort of strangled squeak like she's trying desperately not to burst into laughter.

The cabbie shakes his head, conscientiously hitting his turn signal to edge over as three police cars roar past in the other lane, sirens wailing. "Man," he says with a wistful smile. "That's my favorite movie."

**Author's Note:**

> So half of me is pretty sure that once they get to Bedelia's place (because of course that's where they're going first, to clean up, and so Will and Bedelia can have a snarkfest once Bedelia realizes she's not invited, and so they can "borrow" her car), they probably leave the cab driver dead in her driveway. BUT, the other half of me is pretty sure Hannibal mistakenly thinks he'll be scoring points with Will if he lets the guy live, and instead of going straight to the police, the cab driver books it out of town. And then in a string of totally believable coincidences, every time they need to run from the cops in a new city, they somehow end up in a cab with the same damn driver, who eventually is just like, "Hey guys, where to this time? Hey, how's university treatin' ya, Abby? You still seeing that kid--whassis name--oh, hey, duck down, there's a blockade-- _hey, Henri!_ Can I just--yeah, how's the missus?--hope you guys aren't out too late! Anyway, what was that kid's name? And have you talked these jokers into making honest men of each other yet?" :3


End file.
